Page 77 of Keeping Kasey
I fight off the dizzying exhaustion and stagger to where Ford lies. His hands are limp over his wound, and though his eyes are barely open, they’re not moving. I push his hands away and apply pressure to the wound, and I’m morbidly grateful when he jolts in response.
At least it’s a sign of life.
I barely notice the tears streaming down my cheeks, how they mix with Brandon’s blood—staining the collar of my shirt red—or the copper taste filling my mouth as my chattering teeth catchmy tongue. I don’t register anything aside from the need to keep Ford alive.
Crying out for help is harder than I expect, with fear clogging my throat, but eventually—though I have absolutely no concept of how long it’s been—Matteo and two other soldiers burst into the room.
Matteo pulls me back, and the soldiers begin to work to save Ford’s life, but all I can think about is that odd chord of familiarity Brandon struck when I first met him.
Consoli will find out you’re a traitor, and he’ll kill you.
I’ve never met Brandon before—I’m certain of that—so why do I get the eerie feeling that he’s right?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Logan
I know fear.
I’ve lived it, inflicted it, and wielded it to my advantage for years without hesitation or remorse.
But this chest-crushing, stomach-churning, mind-torturing fear has only hit me three times in my life.
The first was when my mother was murdered.
The second was when my sister was kidnapped.
I have been living in the third since getting the call about Kasey’s attack.
She was attacked in one ofmybases—a place where she should’ve been under direct protection.
I had barely made it to the Chicago base before I booked a flight back to Detroit with nothing but my phone and the clothes on my back.
I take the two-hour delay and the hour flight as my punishment for failing her, because being forced to sit and do absolutely nothing while Kasey lies in a hospital bed is a cruel form of torture.
When I get to the hospital, Matteo is in the lobby, talking on the phone with his back to me, so he doesn’t have the chance to brace himself before I slam him by the throat against the wall.
“You hadonejob,” I practically snarl in his face.
Matteo’s phone drops to the ground, but he doesn’t raise his hands in defense.
He knows better.
“Ford was with her,” he wheezes. “I thought she’d be safe.”
“She wasn’t,” I bite out and squeeze tighter. “How could you let this happen?”
He doesn’t answer—either because he can’t, or knows I’ll be pissed at anything he says.
Once his face is bright red, I let go and step back. Matteo picks up the phone, but only to end the call and shove it in his pocket.
“What exactly happened?” I ask as we walk to the elevators.
“Aside from getting them both here, I didn’t ask questions,” Matteo answers. “Kasey was in shock, and I figured you’d rather handle the situation yourself.”
He made the right call, but I’m too pissed to give him that recognition.
The elevator doors open, and Matteo hits a button once we step inside.
